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Hailstones
Hailstones is Vinvar's story in the A.S.G.A.R.D. Short Story Series. Story The natural phenomenon of snow was rarely seen in Le-Metru, or any region on Metru Nui bar Ko-Metru for that matter. The frozen substance was regarded with suspicion from Le-Matoran, love from Ko-Matoran, interest from Ga-Matoran, dislike from Po-Matoran, downright disgust from "fire-spitters" and was disregarded entirely by Onu-Matoran. So when flurries of the wet, white stuff descended onto Le-Metruan streets one dull Wednesday morning it caused quite the shock among the local Matoran of the area. Those of the more adventurous inhabitants who dared to step out into the snowfall would have been pleasantly surprised by the chilly and soft flakes. Snowball fights ensued among the immature beings, Snow-Toa were built by the younger ones and things seemed good. And then the Hail came. It started when the snow turned hard. A single Matoran, working quietly on his Snow art (a particularly fine sculpture of an Akilini player) felt what seemed like a small pebble land on his shoulder. The Huna-wearer looked up in surprise, but saw nothing. He shrugged and returned to his sculpture, assuming it to be his vivid imagination making things up. But there it was again. He looked up once more, sure he had felt something harder than a snowflake land on him. Once again, nothing. The Matoran warily turned back to his art, only half concentrating. He was watching for one of the pebble-like things. His watching wasn't in vain. A small piece if ice flew towards him at high speeds among the snow. His keen watchman's eyes only just picked it out, an opaque blur among the soft snowflakes. He turned around, looking up to the sky for more of the things, only for one to hit him in the eye. He doubled over in excruciating pain, his pale green irises drenched by the melted ice-ball. Within seconds, the air was thick with flying ice. Some of them were large as fists, some small as an average snowflake, all rock-hard and painful. The Matoran ran for shelter, but he was not the only one. Every Matoran who had been enjoying the snow moments beforehand was now running for cover under the barrage of ice. The Huna wearer saw the doors of houses open, saw Matoran scuffle to be first in to the houses where shelter was offered. He would never know what really happened. Had he been tripped? Did someone push him out of the way? Or had he merely slipped on the wet snow and ice? All he knew was that one second he was sprinting with all his might for the yellow light of an open door, and the next he was on the ground, numb with cold. Trampled into the ground by his fellow Le-Matoran, all of which were as desperate as he was to find safe harbour from the storm. The rain of ice only got harder. He tried to get up, but the cold had stiffened his joints and snuffed out was strength he had left in his body. Soon he was buried in the snow and ice. His eyes were closing now. He couldn't move, couldn't cry out for help. He was blacking out, numbness consuming his body. The cold was taking over. He could feel nothing but cold and ice and death and... And... And... And he felt a hand grasp his arm, pulling him out of the snow he was buried in. A Tryna wearing Le-Matoran became visible out of the failing ice, pulling up the Huna wearer with his right hand, sheltering himself with his left. He dragged the straggler to a small house on the opposite side of the road. It was hard, painful work. The Tryna wearer pulled with both of his hands and all of his strength, but it still took a while to get the Huna wearer back into his house. Finally, they made it. Once in the door, the Tryna wearer collapsed onto the floor with cold and exhaustion. The Huna wearer shook himself slowly back to his senses and slowly stood up with a look of shock on his face, the kind of look you have when you're delirious (which, for all intents and purposes, he was.) "You're... Welcome..." gasped the exhausted Tryna wearer. "Thank you... uh..." "Vinvar." "Arakti." And they both blacked out. ---- It was well after an hour when they both raised themselves again from the tiled floor of Vinvar's home. Arakti stretched out his arms with mock strength, though it was plain to see how weak and gaunt he still was. "Well, thank you Vinvar. I suppose you just saved my life, didn't you... Oh..." he staggered and sat down on the floor. "Sorry, I'm just still a bit shaken after that." "'A bit shaken?'" said Vinvar in awe. "You're pale as a bloody ghost! You look-seem like you just went to flipping Karzahni and back! A bit shaken, well, I ask-tell you." Arakti smiled weakly at this. "Yeah, I probably do..." he stood up with some difficulty, walked into the living room, and looked out the window. "What are those things?" "Hailstones." called back Vinvar. "I'm a physicist, you see, and I dabble in meteorology..." "Meterolo-whatsist?" "The science of weather." He slowly walked into the living room, his back to the window. "Those things are hailstones, and large ones too. And they'll only get larger." Arakti stared out of the glass. Hailstones. He muttered the word a few times to himself, rolling it on and out of his mouth. Yes. It sounded exactly like it was. Cold, hard, sinister... Hailstones. Arakti turned back to Vinvar, who was leaning over a large rowan table covered in books, computers, tablets, notepads and vials of varying shapes and sizes full of oddly colored liquids, among multiple other things. "Woah." muttered the Huna wearer. "What is all this stuff?" "My physics equipment." muttered Vinvar without looking up. "Huh." Arakti proceeded to pick up a sleek black computer tablet and flick through it. "Wow." he said. "A Triximo A-90. Where'd you get this?" Vinvar looked up, sprinted over to where Arakti was standing and snatched it away. "Are you crazy?" snarled the Tryna wearer. "There's some very of my most important, irreplaceable data on this!" He placed it back on the table. "Sorry. Now, I'm no scientist, but can't you just save it to something as well? Copy and paste it maybe?" "Oh." The Physicist blushed. "I never thought of that." "What are you doing that's so important anyway?" "Not important. However, what is important is that we're out of the hail now. We should just stay here until it stops." Arakti looked around and spotted a Radio on a shelf. "Can we listen to the radio? I like the Akilini stations." "No chance of that. They'll have called off the games, no doubt." "What about Music? Who's your favourite singer?" "Sivo and Garveng." "Let's see if their on MetruFM then!" Arakti turned the dial until he got to MetruFM, but no music played. The news was on. Arakti stepped back in surprise. The news never played on MetruFM. "-and many stragglers remain caught outside in the storm, unable to be rescued. After all, who would rescue the rescuers? In any case, this harsh weather, which is expected to last at least three more days is expected to soon trigger a blackout, so expect to spend a few day in darkne-" More TBA